The door swung open, and there he was.
Harry Flynn was dressed impeccably, suggesting he wanted people to believe he had made an effort but not too much of one. His dark hair was longer than the latest fashion dictated. But it was his expression that unsettled Isadora the most.
The smirk. The casual, almost lazy amusement in his dark eyes. The air of a man who was utterly at ease, as if he already knew the outcome of this visit. As if this was a game to him, and he had already won.
“My dear Lady Penelope,” he greeted smoothly, stepping forward and reaching for Penelope’s hand. He did not ask for permission before lifting it to his lips, pressing what should have been a chaste kiss to her glove but which lingered a fraction too long.
It took Isadora every ounce of patience not to knock her sister’s hand out of his, right there and then.
Poor Penelope. She only smiled politely, but Isadora saw the stiffness in her posture.
Hartenshire turned then, his gaze barely brushing over Isadora before dismissing her entirely.
Oh.
At least he was smart enough to know who to avoid.
“Penelope, I must say, you are even lovelier than I remembered,” Hartenshire continued, making himself comfortable as though it wasn’t his very first visit.
Isadora resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
Penelope lowered her lashes demurely. “You are too kind, My Lord.”
“Oh, I do not believe I am kind at all. I am only telling you the truth,” he smirked.
Something in the way he said it made Isadora tense. It did not sound like a compliment.
Meanwhile, Hartenshire reclined into a chair as if the drawing room belonged tohim.
“Please both of you, sit,” he said with an audacity that nearly made Isadora’s jaw drop.
Had he forgotten that this was not this house?
“How kind of you to ask, My Lord,” Isadora said, barely concealing the resentment in her voice.
The two sisters took a seat across from him.
Harry ignored Isadora entirely and leaned back in his chair, crossing one ankle over his knee. His lips curled into a smirk as he swept a gaze around the room.
“A lovely home,” he remarked, his voice smooth and laced with something almost mocking. “Refined, tasteful. I can tell that you must have put quite a lot of thought into it. Awoman’stouch does not go unnoticed after all.”
Next to her, Penelope forced a smile. “You flatter our home, My Lord.”
“I wasn’t aware you had such an eye for interior design, Lord Hartenshire,” Isadora interjected.
He chuckled, opting to look in Penelope’s direction even as he answered Isadora.
“A man in my position must appreciate beauty when he sees it. Whether in a home… or elsewhere.”
“Ah, yes. But appreciation and taste are not the same thing, are they? One can admire a work of art without truly understanding its value,” Isadora replied, already wishing for this dreaded meeting to end.
Hartenshire’s smirk did not falter, but there was a flicker of mild irritation. “Indeed, Lady Isadora though I do believe I understand quite well what holds value.”
“Do you?” Isadora arched a brow. “I imagine that must be difficult, given how often the ton speaks of your… varied investments.”
She could not help herself—she had to have a subtle dig at his gambling. Surely it was the unspoken elephant in the room, and she would not continue on with this farce without bringing it up.
Penelope shot her sister a worried look, but Hartenshire looked unbothered as ever.
